


Jerry Slips Away

by Erinaco



Category: Tom and Jerry (MGM/Hanna-Barbera)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Jerry is being smart again, M/M, Tom has rated dreams, Tom is being stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 13:21:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3571151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erinaco/pseuds/Erinaco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom the Detective chases after Jerry the Thief for several years already, but Jerry manages to slip away every time. This time, when news come about him murdering someone, Tom cannot believe it and starts to look for clues if Jerry got into something bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jerry Slips Away

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a work-related piece, I don't know how it happened to be- this.  
> Yes, and I do know they seem like Peter/Neal of White Collar a bit, sorry for that, too catchy for me to pass by.
> 
> Caution! Un-betaed. All mistakes are my own.

He slept late; there was nothing to do that day anyway, and allowing himself a bit of luxury was useful from time to time. Cup of coffee was ready around ten, filling the whole cramped yet cozy apartment with bitter and sweet taste, thick and refreshing. Tom sat in a single armchair, getting ready for a perfect morning, opened the New York Times, and it was that moment that ended his first day off in a month. In huge bold letters there was a title: “Murder on Times Square: Mysterious Prankster Comes Back?”

x

“You're late, Catcher,” Spike said as soon as he set foot in the office. “Here, on your small thief. I want him cuffed by the end of the week, in case you didn't _catch_ it.”

Tom choked on a pun. Catch, ha-ha, not funny anymore, after six years under Spike’s bossing. Besides, seeing it was his usual way of saying 'good morning,' Tom waved it off of him like an annoying fly and grabbed the folder Spike held out for him. It was hard though to resist the urge to continue the pun further adding it was Tom's duty catching criminals instead of Captain’s thoughts. Late morning made him feel a bit light-headed, that was his only excuse.

“Mysterious Prankster, huh?” Butch mused, peeking out of a pile of papers stocked on his desk. He was probably the least organized cop ever born on this planet. Why on Earth must he be his partner?

Tom sat at his desk and opened the folder. There, a blurred photo and several scarce lines of personal information under the name of Jerry McAway – at least he was able to _catch_ that, the real name. It was frustrating, really, how the guy managed to slip through his fingers every time he got close.

But this time, something was different. The boldness of the robbery and, yes, a murder – McAway was never violent, nor was he cruel.

“Victim: Walles Springster, sixty-four, single. The guard at the museum, huh?” Butch peeked over Tom’s shoulder. “Armed robbery. It’s the first we know about your thief murdering someone, eh?”

“Don’t think it was him,” muttered Tom absent-mindedly, flipping the folder and going through the details of the robbery fast. “Too evident, and look. It’s the first time we get his clear fingerprint.”

“Something went wrong,” Butch shrugged and stifled a yawn. “Big deal, there’s always a first time for anything. Or anyone, even your precious Jerry guy.”

“Yeah.” Tom thoughtfully tapped a finger on the folder, skipping the ‘your precious’ past his ears. “It’s just I can’t imagine McAway being this careless–”

“Not after he fooled you how many, a dozen times?”

“It was only four, you fuck,” Tom growled menacingly through gritted teeth.

“Whatever,” Butch sniggered. “You should admit it already. He’s not so clever after all.”

Tom grimaced at his partner’s army-style short-cut nape.

“But he is. Ain’t you, Jerry?”

The blurred photo charmingly smiled at him. Tom shook his head and clenched the fists so that the knuckles went white.

x

“You finished there? Oi!” Mumbo came into view, watching closely the deft slim fingers at work.

Jerry rolled his eyes. “You should be more patient. I really need more time to do it.”

The security lock clicked quietly, vibrating under Jerry’s fingers. It was a tough one, really hard to crack. Would it be his choice, he’d like a target without these things inside.

“Hurry up, you won’t have the time of your life before the cops arrive!”

“Shut up,” Jerry listened carefully to the chirr of the lock. “You interfere, I need to concentrate. If you’d only let me do my job quietly last time, no bodies would be left behind.”

“Not for you to decide, lad. Come on, you done?”

Jerry clenched his teeth, swallowing the curses. Stupid jerk, no brains, the only talent waving his gun around. “Almost. One– last– aha!” The lock clicked. Jerry felt the warm twinge of pride: it’s the first someone made it with so little time. “Four point twenty-nine. I told you I can manage in less than five minutes.”

“Yeah-yeah, great. What, I should kiss you now?” Huge Mumbo’s hand grabbed Jerry by the shoulder and jerked him up. “Now back to your room and keep quiet unless you wanna get a hole in your brilliant head.”

He was pushed flatly into the room, and the door slammed behind his back. Jerry bumped a fist into the wall. There was nothing he wanted more than to be able to get away off this room, off Mumbo and off his gun that appeared far more often than he could enjoy. Well, maybe whiskey would do, also.

“When I get out, I’ll crack his skull, swear to God–” Jerry collapsed on a single bed and shielded his eyes, feeling worn-out. “Fuck. I won’t do without help from the outside, will I?”

 

…Everything was going relatively fine until the guard tried to follow his duty obstinately and pushed The Button. Naturally, Mumbo’s gun was at his head sooner than he had a time to pray for his life.

“You shitty–”

Jerry dropped the bag he was holding and grabbed Mumbo’s elbow.

“Mumbo, don’t! Put your gun down, or I swear–”

The shot deafened him for a second, and then a fist bumped into his stomach. Jerry bent double, trying to keep tears of pain out of his eyes. “You swear nothing, McAway. You do what I say and no one gets hurt– Well, except this guy over here.”

Mumbo showed a small smile at the corner of mouth, probably enjoying the joke. Jerry didn’t feel amused at all but the black round muzzle could convince anyone to become obedient.

The vault door opened quietly, and Mumbo tossed him a bag. “Fill it. We have five minutes max before the cops arrive.”

Jerry stepped into the vault and looked up. There was a camera there, a small red flickering light that Mumbo didn’t know about. What if he tried, maybe this was his chance to get some unexpected help–

“You asleep or what?!”

Jerry smiled grimly and got to filling the bag with dough.

x

“Damn it, Catcher! Your pretty little thief got us another body to deal with!”

Tom choked on his coffee. “The hell?”

Captain tossed him a paper. Tom stared at it, eyes open wide. “It’s not him. Can’t be him–”

“Well, you better believe it, son. The camera got him.”

What. “The camera?” No way in hell would Jerry-fucking-McAway let himself get caught on a camera while _at stealing_ –

“See for yourself. It was inside the vault. He missed it. It got him, his face, nice and clear, and in motion. It’s almost like it’s not him only that it was. He’s getting–”

“–systematic.”

“Come again?”

Tom almost didn’t listen. He examined the paper back and forth, again, comparing the new data with the one he stored carefully in his mind after the first robbery.

“There’s a system to these particular robberies.”

Captain glanced at him, not being entertained. “McAway’s always systematic, don’t you say that until I’m getting sick of it?”

“But this time, it’s too easy.” Tom searched the desk and lifted two papers before Spike’s eyes. “See? The first one, and here, the second, only two blocks away. And the third one, probably, right there, same street. They’re moving down the line.”

“Does that mean–”

“Yep. This can be the next target. And even more, murders fit.”

Spike watched him silently.

“What’re you saying?” Butch came behind Tom’s shoulder.

“McAway doesn’t kill. First, he never needs it, the smart bastard. Second, he doesn’t like blood. Remember that time with Kensington diamonds?”

Captain sighed. “That proves nothing.”

“Yes it does.” Tom felt his face burning. The right guess always made him itchy and sparkling. “He’s not alone on these.”

As he thought, this made both Cap and Butch freeze in place, trying to get over the information. McAway never _ever_ worked with someone. It was his specialty to be alone. Mostly because no other criminal would be able to go along the neatly thought-out, well-planned, elegant and refined schemes of his.

“Right.” Captain came to his senses first. “We better prepare if we wanna catch him– or them, whatever. I’ll call the squad. Butch, get them ready. Tom, look through the details, maybe you can get out something useful.”

Tom stopped him with his hand on Spike’s shoulder.

“Cap. I wanna take him down alone.”

Spike shook his hand off. “Not this time, son. We need no more deaths.”

x

Something was deeply wrong.

Jerry searched the hall with his eyes, and the inkling in his stomach got more evident. It was too quiet; they got no trouble getting into the safe. It was as though luck smiled at them.

Jerry knew it was never the case.

He kept his eyes wide open, waiting for what was going to happen, and the sound of police sirens didn't surprise him at all. Unlike Mumbo. The guy got scared out of his guts, pushed Jerry toward the exit. “Stay here, I’ll check the rest. Don’t you dare run away–”

He vanished in the vault, and Jerry looked around. The feeling of danger got stronger.

The dark shadow separated from the nearest wall, swayed forward. Jerry instinctively twitched, tightened, avoiding danger, until the shadow clenched strong fingers around his wrist.

“Well-well, detective Tom Catcher,” Jerry smiled airily, trying to keep the trembling out of his voice. “Got me finally, didn’t you? It took you long–”

“What’s the deal, McAway?”

It was their first meeting face-to-face, and Jerry unexpectedly found himself thinking the detective must be quite a catch with those thick black hair and sharp cheekbones. He was tall, dark and lean, also, and he was talking so quietly Jerry had to strain his ears to make out the words. That was not the voice a cop must possess, Jerry thought, especially not the one that hunted him down for two years already.

The subtle gleam in his eyes made Jerry bite his tongue to stop the usual charm and cut to the chase.

“It’s Mumbo, Mumbo Greenwich. Taken me to do some job. Out of my will, obviously.”

“Real name?”

“No idea.” Jerry watched the detective closer. He could swear Catcher was eager to take out the notebook and actually take notes.

“You’re not going to get away that easy, McAway.”

“Jerry’s fine. And yes, of course I will. You see, there’s a _catch_ ,” Jerry smiled. Curiously, how often the detective hears the puns with his name? They were unbelievably hard to resist, especially with that look on his face. “Mumbo’s not alone, and I’ve got no idea who’s the boss.”

The detective narrowed his eyes. “Why so sure there is a boss?”

“You would be if you knew Mumbo. He’s the dumbest creature ever, I seriously doubt he’s a human being not a monkey.” Jerry pondered for a moment. Where in the world he got the idea to trust the cop? “Besides, the plan is neat. That’s why they needed me in the first place, to have a scapegoat at hand, with the fingerprints and plenty of evidence. What’s the best evidence if not my direct participation?”

The detective pursed his lips and said nothing for a moment.

“Do you know what the plan is?”

“No.”

“McAway.”

“Only guesses,” Jerry sighed. The plan _was_ good. “The line we’re moving down is something important. It must be one of the banks. Maybe something in the private cells–”

“Can’t get to those,” the detective frowned, absent expression on his face. “We need to know what to look for exactly.”

The sirens went louder, and Jerry stepped closer, almost bumping their chests together.

“You have to let me go, detective,” he whispered. “Tom, can I call you Tom? If you want to lay your hands on the mastermind, you’ll need to trust me.”

Maybe that was a mistake. Jerry shouldn’t have mentioned the “trust” issue, not to a _detective_ , for Christ’s sake!

There was a careful, attentive gleam in his eyes. “We’ll need to keep in touch–”

“I’ll think something out. Wait for now, and I’ll let you know, Mr. Catcher.”

The doubt was written all over the detective’s face, in the deep furrow between the brows, the tightly pursed lips. Jerry was sure he’d cuff him the next moment, sending to hell the possibility of catching the indefinite big fish but–

“Go.”

The soft whisper was almost blocked by the noise of sirens. Jerry trembled slightly, his head a merry-go-round of adrenaline, anxiety, amusement and anticipation.

Catcher watched him with a long gaze before disappearing into the shadows.

Jerry smiled softly. He knew there was something captivating about this detective the moment he saw him over two years ago across the street, searching for the impudent thief who just left the art gallery with the _Female Portrait with Mask_ miniature by Rosalba Carriera in his pocket. Seems like his intuition was right – once again. He was the enemy to be trusted.

x

“I should be confiscating your badge by now, detective Catcher.”

Spike sounded dull and grim, and Tom knew it was entirely his fault. “I can hand it over to you right now, Cap.” There was nothing he could do with Captain’s decision, either. Still, even now he couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty.

“Keep it!” snapped Spike, and Tom heard Butch sighing with relief behind his back. “You’ll do what I tell you to do, you got that?”

Tom nodded shortly. “I’m ready to carry out your orders, sir.”

“Sure you are,” Spike growled, not so dourly as he’d like to sound. “Butch, what d’you have?”

“Mumbo Greenwich. Real name Pete Barnaber,” Butch held out a print out. Spike looked it through and passed to Tom without looking at him. “Convicted for an armed robbery, sentenced for seven years. Released six months ago. Previously had several car thefts and bar hassles. Participated in an underground fighting club “Meridian,” that’s where he got his nickname.”

“Great record. We got anything on him?”

“Not for now,” Butch shook his head. “It looks like he was lying low for some time–”

“Until now, apparently,” Captain glanced at Tom. “Got in sight of any camera?”

“No. Mumbo seems to know where the cameras are and avoids them.”

Spike drummed his fingers on the table. “He doesn’t seem to be that smart.”

Tom frowned. He knew he messed up, yet he had a chance to prove he had the grounds to act as he did. He cast a glance at Butch, silent and lost in thought, and hesitated for a short moment before asking: “Permission to speak, sir.”

“Granted.” Captain leaned back in his chair wearily and rubbed his eyes.

Tom pondered choosing his wording. “I believe there is someone else, a boss, or maybe a whole group. Obviously, McAway is kept against his will. I also trust he will find a way to keep in touch for the next robbery. Now we have the time to investigate the banks down the street and find out about the owners of the private cells. It should be something in them–”

“You believe him that much?” Butch interfered. “That little thief of yours. It was his idea, about the private cells, ain’t it? What if it’s part of their scheme?”

Tom remembered his meeting with McAway. He didn’t seem to be lying at all; there was anxiety and weariness in his voice, and Tom was surprised with Jerry cutting chit-chat. It looked as though he really needed help.

He sighed. It was always his weak point, trying to help someone who asks for help.

“I thought enough about it,” Tom rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling fatigue gathering at his shoulders. “I’m working on a back-up plan just in case it’s true. But the idea does seem to be valid, and we cannot risk any more lives. The personnel of the banks should know about the robberies. It won’t be superfluous to go cautiously on the next one.”

Captain’s chair creaked. “We don’t have much time, do we.”

“Couple of days at the most,” Tom nodded agreeably. “I’ll go talk to the personnel of the next target bank–”

“No, Butch’ll do it. Get the order to make them keep out.” Spike rose from the chair and folded his arms behind the back. “I need you at the office, Tom. And I want to see the back-up plan by tomorrow morning.”

 

…The ceiling was dark and low, and something was dripping shallowly down the damp walls. Tom squeezed through a narrow passage, trying to keep as quiet as possible. His footsteps were deafening in the silence of the tunnel.

“Tom?”

He froze, listening to the echo that fended off the walls. The sound came from the front but the walls multiplied and increased it, and there was no possibility to recognize the voice. Still, Tom knew exactly who called him. He got his gun out of the holster and started walking stealthily next to the wall.

The scream stopped him abruptly as though he ran into a glass wall.

“Tom!”

He jumped and took off without any more hesitation. The blinking bulb at the end of the tunnel, two corridors, left and right–

“To-om–”

He turned left, holding his gun upright, ready to shoot to kill. The door at the end of the corridor was ajar, with soft light cloving underneath.

The shriek turned into a painful moan, and Tom pushed the door with his shoulder before he could think of any danger that could be waiting behind it.

The room was empty aside from the single chair right in the middle of it. There, under the poor lamp, sat Jerry, fastened by his arms and legs with a tape, head dropped on his chest. No one else in the room, Tom noticed, dropping the gun.

“McAway? Jerry?” he briskly neared the chair, holstering the gun and searching the pockets for a jackknife. “You alive?”

Jerry lifted his head. He had a black eye, and a thin trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth down the chin. A huge red swell on the left cheekbone looked painful.

“Stay with me, okay? I’m going to get you out of here, just stay conscious–”

The bruised lips twitched, forming a small private smile. Despite the injuries, his eyes were bright and alive. Tom swallowed and moved closer.

“I called,” Jerry’s voice was faint. “You came.”

“Of course I did,” Tom forced a smile in response.

Jerry’s grin grew more distinct as Tom cut the tape around his wrists and ankles. His skin was burning, and Tom couldn’t resist the urge to stroke it with his thumbs.

“You’re hot.”

“Thanks,” Jerry’s smile turned naughty.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Why not?”

Tom held his breath and leaned over Jerry. His lips were close, with dried blood in the corner of the mouth. It didn’t make that mouth any less kissable, Tom thought, losing in to the suddenly burning desire, pressing Jerry closer, capturing his lips, slipping his tongue inside the hot compliant mouth–

…He woke and sat upright in his bed, on the crumpled sheets, panting. His head hurt. Tom squeezed the temples with forefingers, massaging heavily.

He dreamt of Jerry McAway, a criminal, his current case. And of kissing him, and of who knows what else if he didn’t wake up on time. Tom grimaced. The fervent sensation in the stomach was nothing like disgust.

It took fifteen minutes of a cold shower to get rid of the feeling of a soft warm mouth underneath his.

x

“Cap, I’ve gathered the evidence for the plan you asked for,” Tom dropped the folder on Spike’s table. “How’s Butch’s progress with the bank?”

Captain glanced at him heavily. It looked like he also didn’t get enough sleep. “They resisted. But they’re ready.”

Tom sat on the edge of a chair opposite Spike. He was fidgety and irritated all morning, unable to forget the dream from last night. It made him picture things that were unnecessary at the moment.

Like how small Jerry’s wrists looked wrapped to the chair arms. He thought whether it was only his imagination–

“Okay, tell me what you know.” Captain’s voice brought Tom back to real life.

“Uh, right.” He coughed, clearing his throat. “It’s obvious Jerry isn’t alone, and there is someone else, a boss or a gang. The plan is too neat for Mumbo to think through. So we have a chance to catch someone big here, and we can’t ignore it. For now, there is evidence on McAway at most, even his accomplice is clean. So we’d go discreet on this. Let them rob another bank. Let McAway look at the details more, pull the strings to fish out the mastermind–”

“In case he tells the truth, Catcher.” Spike growled.

“Yes. If he doesn’t, we can take him down that very instant, we have everything on him.” Tom tapped the folder he gave to Captain and leaned closer. “But it just doesn’t click. Why would McAway expose himself like that? On the other hand, maybe he can give us the information.”

“You think he’ll ask for a deal?”

“Probably,” Tom shrugged his shoulders thoughtfully. “Maybe we should agree if we catch the whole pack–”

Spike watched him carefully.

“You’ll do that?” he asked disbelievingly. “You’ll let McAway disappear again, after two years he made you chase after him?”

Tom sighed. “I can handle it. And I want to cuff him for the crimes he planned and committed not for the one he was forced to. Besides, I want to catch him myself, with no help from outside of these walls.”

Captain nodded shortly. Tom though he saw a tiny smile hiding in the drooping corners of his mouth.

“Sometimes you’re being too stubborn, Catcher. Maybe that’s what makes you my best detective,” Spike said, amused. “But don’t be presumptuous. Catch me those bastards first. And remember, it’s your initiative.”

Tom stood up off the chair and headed toward his desk.

There was definitely a smile on Captain’s face.

 

“Hey, partner.” Butch plunged into the seat next to Tom and handed him a hamburger. “Saw anything interesting?”

Tom shrugged.

They were sitting in the damn car for over seven hours already, and it seemed that the shadowing would keep on for some time. Butch who was always chatty this time went silent; something made him shut up and go deep in his own thoughts. Not like Tom objected.

He peered at the front doors of the bank until his eyes hurt.

“Urgh, can’t do it anymore,” he slumped on his seat. “Need coffee. You want some?”

He was ready to open the door when Butch caught his hand and nodded across the street. There, an indiscernible white van parked near the bank, blocking the view of the front door.

“It’s them.”

“Give them a minute. Don’t need Mumbo to see us.”

They sat for a minute in silence, watching the van intently.

“Okay, off I go,” Tom opened the door of the car, waiting for the opportune moment to get out. “Contact the squad if anything happens but remember the plan–”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not a cadet. No intrusion. Wait for your signal. Go already, you grumpy kibitzer! Say hi to your little thief.”

Tom didn’t bother to answer, eyes glued to the van parked across the busy evening street.

The dim blue city was illuminated with neon signs and headlights of the passing cars. Tom stopped, passing the two flows, white and red before him, waiting impatiently for the traffic lights to switch. He saw no one by the van from this angle, nor could he see what happened at the front door of the bank. There should have been some time for him to get there, still, before everything was over.

The van was empty and locked. Tom backed into the shadow of one of the columns of the bank, pressing into the cold stone. What if he won’t be able to have a word with Jerry? What if Mumbo sees them talking? What if–

Jerry walked out of the front doors with a big black bag in his hand and a cap over his eyes. Mumbo was nowhere to be seen, and Tom sighed with relief, taking a step out of his hideout.

“What–” Jerry stared at him incredulously. “The hell are you doing here, I told you to wait!”

There was a shop with a huge neon sign behind his back, and Jerry’s face was twisted in the multicolored illumination. Tom felt his mouth going dry, fast scenes of yesterday’s dream flashing before his inner eyesight.

“I’m happy you missed me, Catcher, really. But there was no need for such a rush,” there was a grin on his lips and in his eyes that made Tom curse sotto voce. “You cops all the same, where did I get the idea you’d listen to the voice of reason?”

“How else–”

“Shh!” Jerry slammed his palm across Tom’s mouth and craned his neck, watching something above his shoulder. At the same time, he pressed closer to Tom, and he could feel Jerry’s chest heaving warmly and rapidly next to his.

Something hot curled in Tom’s stomach, blood rushing heavily in his ears.

“Okay, listen carefully,” Jerry drew back and looked directly in Tom’s eyes but didn’t remove his hand, talking quickly and quietly. “There is something very wrong with these robberies. It’s not only that we take the money or else Mumbo would make me do that alone. Every time, he leaves me for a couple of minutes to do something in the bank. He says, this is to check on me. Bullshit! It’s too risky in case I was stupid enough to try and run away. He needs this time for something–”

Tom pulled away, removing Jerry’s fingers off his mouth.

“Maybe he leaves something inside?”

Jerry frowned. “Why? Did you find something while searching the vaults?”

“Nothing,” Tom narrowed his eyes, calculating the possibilities. “But we were looking for what was gone not what may have appeared, apart from the evidence.”

“So no thorough search, eh?” Jerry furrowed his eyebrows. “Do it, and I’ll keep Mumbo a company for a while.”

“Yeah–”

Tom realized he was staring only after Jerry lifted his eyebrows in a slight surprise.

“What?”

They were still standing almost pressed together, and Tom pulled away awkwardly.

“Er– I talked to Captain about the deal for you, in case you wanted–”

“That can wait.”

Jerry smiled at him, the same way Tom imagined in his dream. He stared back while Jerry disappeared behind the corner of the van, unable to think straight.

Probably, the dream was not an accident, he though, coming to his senses and stepping back into the shadow of the column. Probably, that has something to do with the way Jerry’s lips curl mockingly and how the tiny wrinkles gather in the corners of his eyes.

And with the tightening of Tom’s pants, apparently.

It was better to wait for some time before getting back into the car, where Butch would love to hear an explanation of his sudden hard-on.

x

“You can stop closing me in a room like I’m a kid under house arrest!” Jerry snatched his elbow out of Mumbo’s grab. “I’m not going anywhere. At least give me something to read, I’m bored to death!”

“You say so.”

The door slammed before Jerry’s nose, and he sighed wearily.

It’s not like he was dying of boredom. Actually, there was something peculiar he had to think about, like today’s appearance of detective Catcher, and that strange face he made, as though he saw Jerry for the first time in his life. A strange and hungry look in his eyes was– disturbing.

Jerry paced the room for a while, rewinding their conversation with detective. Why did he mention the deal? Not like Jerry insisted on it or something. Was it the desire to secure their agreement? Then why the hungry face?

The noise of phone ringing made Jerry lean into the keyhole and listen carefully. It was hard to make out the conversation, only a swift murmur and fragments of separate phrases.

“–worry. Police– have to– no idea. No bodies no– as planned. Uh huh, fine– The safecracker– miracles, fast as–of course. I’ll report. Okay. Yeah–”

Jerry sighed and crossed his arms, leaning with his back to the wall. That’s typical, he doesn’t even get to hear the praises for himself. But Mumbo was reporting carefully, that raised hopes. Still, there was little time left, the detective should hurry.

The murmur died down, and the door opened.

“Hey. I ordered pizza, grab a piece and get back to your room,” Mumbo let Jerry squeeze past him.

Pizza was all meat and cheese. Jerry regretfully thought of olives on top.

“You could’ve ordered one for me,” he complained, pulling out several tissues to wipe his fingers later.

“Get back,” Mumbo barked, and Jerry waved his hand free of pizza.

“Wow now, no need to get so aggressive. I go, I go, see?” He defiantly walked past his guard and flopped onto the bed. “Thanks for the treat, Mumbo.”

The door slammed, and a lock clicked threateningly in response.

“He’s so gentle,” Jerry made a face to the closed door and took a bite of pizza. It never occurred to him how hungry he was.

His thoughts kept coming back to detective Catcher. There was something weird going on with him, not something Jerry planned, and it was certainly a puzzle worth cracking. He finished off the last bite and lied on the bed, throwing his hands behind the head.

“Well-well, detective, you must think of something inappropriate,” Jerry chuckled under his breath. “Maybe you planned to break our small agreement, or maybe, there is something else you don’t tell me about–”

The anticipation crept under his skin and settled uncomfortably somewhere under the shoulder blades, scratchy and ticklish.

x

“What’s that?”

Tom looked around and frowned. “What’s what?”

“That.” Butch lifted a white handkerchief with two gloved fingers. It was stained in something brownish, sickeningly reminding of blood.

Tom stared at it, perplexed, before a grin spread on his face. “ _That_ is a message. From McAway.”

“What.”

Tom snatched the handkerchief and waved it before his partner’s face. Butch twitched, avoiding the dirty fabric. “The fuck, Catcher!”

“You don’t remember?” Tom’s grin became wicked. “Seventeen months ago, McAway stole that little pendant worth forty thousand from a Hungarian aristocrat. He used this same thing as a red herring to get past security. This is _paint_ , dumbass. Where did you find it?”

Butch gestured behind his back. “There. It was pressed by the door of the safe deposit. Why in the name of–”

“We didn’t exactly have time to go precise on the ways of communication,” Tom shrugged. “Probably, he had nothing else at hand. This is a message that means we missed something and have to search thoroughly.”

“Well, we already know this, ain’t we,” Butch watched the handkerchief suspiciously.

The stains looked precisely like dried blood. Tom smirked. “Yep, my bad. He did leave me a message though.”

“That doesn’t mean you can trust him, partner,” Butch stuffed the handkerchief in the evidence bag. “I’ll send this to the lab, just in case.”

Tom waved him off and strode into the vault. The safe was unlocked neatly, quick and effective, no scratches, and it was empty. There was nothing Tom could see that didn’t belong here. If Mumbo did leave something inside, it sure was small and inconspicuous.

“Carpenter! Call the manager of the bank. I need to know exactly what changed in the vault.”

The policeman nodded and brought the radio up, talking fast into it. Tom looked around, searching for the expert that worked on the scene. “Alan. Found anything interesting?”

“Oh, hey Tom. No, nothing. Good there’s no body this time.”

“Yeah. Listen, I need to know if you find something suspicious – anything. Try to do as much as you can, any analyses at your disposal. I know there should be something in here. I’ll get you the list of inventory.”

He turned around, examining the vault carefully. Shoulders felt heavy; Tom glanced at his watch. It showed three in the morning.

“No sleep today either,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hope you find out something soon, Jerry.”

 

The late morning was grey and surly. Tom sat on the couch, brushing off the drowsiness. He didn’t dream of Jerry, which was a relief, but his slumber was full of dim threat that exhausted him even more. The papers, scattered all around the coffee table, the floor and his lap, rustled quietly, the sound overlapped by sudden ringing.

“Ugh–”

Tom grabbed the roaring cellphone. His head weighed several tons, and the nape ached mercilessly.

“Catcher.”

“Where the hell are you,” Butch cried excitedly into the speaker. “Alan’s found something. Partner, you need to see this!”

Tom was on his feet before Butch finished the sentence. “What?”

“You come and see for yourself. I– dunno. Just come and see!” Butch hang up, and Tom stared on a beeping phone for a split second.

“Damn.”

He ran out of an apartment with a toast in his teeth and a necktie dangling out of the chest pocket. The car coughed and started unwillingly; Tom hit the steering wheel, frustration accumulating in his stomach. Three blocks before the office where heavily trafficked, he had to get out of the car and walk on foot.

“Uh.” Tom burst in the office and slammed into Butch face-to-face.

“Hey, partner. Good morning to you too!” Butch gave him a toothy grin and a pat on the back. “Today is your personal Christmas.”

“What did Alan find,” Tom panted, trying to catch his breath.

Butch nodded toward his desk. It was almost painful to see him fresh and widely awake when Tom got equally little sleep and felt awful. “That. Four copies, same placement in the vaults.”

Tom picked a photo off the table. There was a small nearly invisible box painted the same color as the background. “And this is–”

“–something. We don’t know yet.” Butch helpfully snatched the photo out of Tom’s fingers and looked at it closely. “Alan thinks it’s some kind of a tracker. We couldn’t even take them off the wall without damaging them. It seems these boxes are screwed to the surface or something. No wonder we didn’t see them – each is painted in the exact same color as the walls.”

Tom took the photo back and fiddled with it, turning upside down and backwards.

“So how _did_ Alan find them?”

“And that’s the best part!” Butch turned around and walked toward exit. “C’mon, let him tell you himself, he’s eager, and it’s too abstruse for me to repeat. Want coffee? We can get a cup at Lacey’s on our way to the lab.”

…Coffee tickled the nostrils pleasantly; Tom gratefully patted his partner’s back, eyes fixed on the photo, larger this time and with more details visible.

“So you say–”

“Right there,” Alan pointed at the small dot on the picture with his finger. “That’s the receiving opening. Without it, I wouldn’t have find anything. I can’t tell you what it is exactly, but it’s definitely on a chemical basis. Actually if you didn’t tell me to search with everything at hand, I wouldn’t even try to look for something like this.”

Tom sipped from his cup. “And you think this is–”

“A beacon, yes. The one that will react if something of a specific nature is brought into the room.”

“Any ideas what can cause a reaction?”

Alan spread his hands helplessly. “I need to know the exact compound to list the most probable triggers. All I know, they should have enhanced radioactivity.”

“What?!” Butch yanked away from Alan. “You didn’t tell me it’s radioactive!”

“Relax, it’s not _that_ dangerous. It’s only a bit higher than the background radioactivity. Thousands of substances have that.”

“I need to see the real thing,” Tom mumbled. “Is there any chance to get it off the wall without damaging?”

“Hardly. I don’t know how it’s attached. If the flasks with reagents are hooked, the chemicals will react, and there might be a local explosion that’ll destroy all the evidence.”

“Of course.”

Tom closed his eyes wearily. “I really need to get some sleep,” he said to himself. “Thanks, Alan. Butch, let’s go, Cap’ll want to hear it.”

…Spike stared up at them, unreadable expression on his face. “That leaves us?”

“We think the mastermind is adept in chemistry,” Tom made a vague gesture with his hand. “And probably physics. The beacons that Mumbo leaves in the vaults are meant to signal if something appears there. I’ve sent a query to know if something should have been brought to the banks but it seems no one knows anything.”

“Or they just keep quiet,” Butch interjected. “Those bastards are always secretive.”

“Or that,” Tom agreed.

“Why robbing the banks? Ain’t it damaging their reputation?”

“Ah,” Tom couldn’t resist a smirk. “No one will think of robbing the bank that was already robbed. I think it’s a precaution in case someone else chases our secret artifact. Besides, it must be something important only for those who know what it is.”

Spike crossed his arms. “Like for your mastermind, huh. Seems logical, especially in case if everything is already arranged for the storage of– whatever it is. Can you get in touch with McAway?”

“You think he might know something?” Tom doubted. “I can try to catch on him during the next robbery.”

“I don’t like you repeating the same scheme for the third time. It seems too obvious–”

Butch stood up. “Do we have a choice?”

Spike gave him a glance. “–Right. Act on the previous plan. Butch, banks are on you. Try not to scare the manager, better talk to the personnel directly. Catcher, find out what the beacons are for. Have someone look up the information on chemical prodigies,” Spike waved them out of his office. “And get some sleep, Tom. You look like shit.”

“Thank you, sir.” Tom closed the glass door behind his back and rubbed his eyes with the back of the hand. “That is a wonderful idea. Maybe later–”

x

And there he was, accurate as an atomic clock. Jerry wiped a smile off his face and arranged a more appropriate expression of indignation.

“What now, detective Tom?” he asked silkily. “More distrust?”

“Quite the contrary,” detective looked exhausted, not bothering for a small talk. “New information. The things Mumbo leaves in the vaults, they are chemical beacons that react on a specific substance. We do not know yet what it is but it should be something valuable that is to arrive to the banks later.”

“So the robberies are nothing more than diversionary tactics– sweet.”

Detective pursed his lips in a usual manner, and Jerry stuffed a laugh.

“You got any idea on what it might be?”

“Hm,” Jerry pondered, poking a cigarette butt stuck in a crack in the pavement with the toe of his shoe. “Nothing comes to mind. For now. However, I have some interesting information for you, too. I overheard Mumbo taking with someone. There will be one more bank after this one, and that’s it.”

Detective grimaced as if the news physically hurt him.

“Well, well, Tom, no need to get so upset. You’ll see me after this is over, okay?” Jerry grinned but his smile faded under the detective’s intent gaze.

Tom blinked and turned away. On the background of the early evening in the city his profile looked as though it was embossed on a metal coin.

“Hey, detective. What’s up?”

He didn’t turn his head. “May I know what exactly you have in mind?” Tom’s voice wasn’t amused.

“You look as though you haven’t got a wink of sleep for the past three days.”

Detective cast a glance his way, and Jerry suddenly shuddered. It was a matter of seconds; Tom got him slammed against the van, pinned with detective’s body, with a hand on Jerry’s throat. “In a matter of fact, yes,” Tom whispered venomously into his ear. “Guess whose fault it is.”

“Really, Tom?!” Jerry snapped, the tension of the last week affecting his self-control. “Do you think I’m enjoying the position of a captive?”

Detective startled and released him as suddenly as he grabbed him a moment ago. Jerry almost lost his footing.

“Sorry,” Tom rubbed his face, avoiding Jerry’s eyes. “No sleep at all.”

“Right. So, about the banks. Here I thought maybe the thing our mastermind’s looking for will arrive in only one bank,” Jerry hesitated. “He just doesn’t know which one. That makes sense with the beacons, right? Only one will react, and he’ll know, which bank exactly it is.”

Tom nodded subtly. “That may be true. Yeah–”

Detective turned away and strode off across the street, never glancing back.

Jerry followed his silhouette in the falling night, surprised and confused, until Mumbo called his name. “You deaf? Get into the car!”

There was definitely something strange with Tom Catcher today.

x

It was only a matter of time that Jerry appeared in his dream, again.

Naked, this time. Tom stared at a well-toned torso splayed in his own bed, with a long leg dangling freely off the edge and a blanket covering the rest. He simply _knew_ Jerry had absolutely no clothes underneath.

“You coming or what?” Jerry’s voice broke the silence. It was slightly lower than usual, Tom noted absent-mindedly, tracing the line of a naked hand thrown carelessly behind his head. “If you prefer standing in the doorway, staring, I can start on my own.”

Tom very well realized it couldn’t be happening. It didn’t actually matter – that was another thought that came naturally after the first one, followed by the only decision Tom could make. He stepped into the room, silently like a cat, approached Jerry and put one knee on the bed.

“So start,” the words left his lips without any participation of the brain.

Jerry smiled teasingly, with one brow lifted, and ran a hand down his bare chest. Tom swallowed the lump in his throat, eyes fixed on the deft fingers that lifted the blanket and slipped beneath it.

“You little–”

His voice went hoarse. Tom grabbed the blanket and pulled it down slowly, exposing the rest of Jerry’s body. Jerry trembled slightly, air chilling his skin. Or maybe that wasn’t the freshness of the air at all, Tom smugly thought, wrapping his fingers around Jerry’s ankle.

Jerry had surprisingly long legs for a man with his height. Tom grabbed him under the knees and pulled him closer, shifting to settle between his thighs. Jerry brushed a dark curl of hair away from his forehead and laughed shortly; his eyes were black, Tom could see himself in the dilated pupils. He leaned closer, so their noses were almost brushing together. He felt hot and obedient body beneath, the slim legs wrapping around his waist, and it made his head dizzy.

“There’s something I’ve meant to tell you for a while now,” Tom whispered into Jerry’s ear, brushing his lips on the earlobe, content of the shivers running down Jerry’s body, feeling the warmth spreading up his chest from the stomach. “You, here– It is a dream–”

The thought was nice and clear. Tom stared in the equally surprised Jerry’s eyes, feeling reality breaking the slumber. Jerry opened his mouth to say something, and disappeared in a smeared haze.

“Oh, fuck. No, no, no, fuck!”

Tom sat on his bed, alone and confused, with hands tangled in the sheets. His mouth was dry as a desert, and the head never stopped spinning around. He was trying to figure which feeling was stronger in him, self-contempt or disappointment.

 

…Tom blocked himself behind the stacks of folders, trying to get rid of the nauseating guilt mixed with embarrassment that settled under his skin. Yesterday evening he escaped Butch’s questions excusing himself on feeling ill. Quick shower with a bonus didn’t help but only annoyed him more, and the dream–

That was the worst part. Tom moaned and dropped his head on the folded hands, frustrated, reliving the moment of awakening again for the tenth time.

“Hey partner,” Butch appeared behind the lowest stack. “Still feeling bad?”

“I’m fine,” Tom hissed through gritted teeth. His head felt like it was going to explode. “What d’you want?”

“Oh wow, you surely don’t look so well.” Butch made a step backwards. “Uh, okay. Just wanted to tell you there’s some progress on the position of the mastermind guy. Here,” another folder landed before Tom. “Don’t be mad, you’re really scary when you are.”

Tom groaned, watching Butch’s back.

The progress was poor. It consisted of a list with the number of names nearing two hundred. That was not hopeful at all, and Tom delved into details: who, what, where. A couple of dozens seemed to be more perspective than others. Circling their names, Tom marked Jerry’s was among them.

“Really?” Spike asked several hours later. “You left McAway on the list? I thought you were all for trusting him on this one.”

Ton shrugged wearily. “I don’t know. He seems to be telling the truth. Besides, it’s just stupid for him to be locked up if it’s his own plan.”

“No, it’s not stupid,” Butch suggested helpfully. “Quite brilliant, I’d say. He gets himself a perfect alibi _and_ is at the center of action at the same time. Brilliant!”

Tom eyed him scathingly. Still, he had to admit he had the same doubts, despite the obvious– reaction his body demonstrated on a single thought of Jerry as a human being not as a criminal.

“It will be brilliant only if he manages to frame someone else. Someone we still can’t find,” Tom snapped. “Otherwise, we’ll have him jailed with the evidence we have.”

“If you two gonna fight, take it out,” Captain interfered, calm and collected. “Tom, I’m still waiting for your considerations on the artifact.”

Tom growled low and strode out of Cap’s office.

 

“Kev? Hi, it’s Tom. How’r you doing?”

He heard Kevin’s voice as though through a thick wool.

“Where are you, the connection’s shitty!”

It was his friend from college times, when Tom was still thinking about the profession he’d choose in the future. It happened that way that they both opted for internal security, and it was a matter of chance that Kevin’s father had an agent of FBI indebted to him.

“Still in L.A., huh? I thought they’d be taking you to the headquarters,” Tom swayed in his chair. “Listen, Kev, I need a favor to ask. There’s a case I’m on, and I got stuck, yeah–”

It was a tough job retelling Kevin the case without plunging into nuances. Spike’d kill him if he knew his subordinate drained valuable information on a case to a rivaling agency.

“I don’t know, Tom,” Kevin closed the speaker with his hand, obviously; Tom heard muted conversation. He came back shortly. “There’s a chance I can get what you want but–”

“I’ll owe you,” Tom said instantly, tightening in the chair. “I really need to know why these banks.”

“Ugh– Okay. I can promise nothing, you understand.”

“Yeah, thanks a lot.” Tom sighed and relaxed, leaning backwards. “Anything’d be great. Say hi to Debby.”

He disconnected and rubbed his face.

“Captain will be furious when he learns about this.”

Tom jumped on his chair. “Butch! What– Argh, didn’t you parents tell you eavesdropping is bad?”

“Yeah, I think I heard something like that,” he sat down on the edge of the desk.

“Keep quiet on this, will you? I need this information,” Tom put folded hands on the table.

“Sure, partner,” Butch shrugged. “If Cap asks, I knew nothing. But you really should be more covert about such things. Sure you’re okay? These last three days you seem to be out of your pace.”

Tom watched him silently, not knowing what to say, then shrugged one shoulder. “I’m just tired.”

“Well– no, not just tired,” Butch leaned closer, looking him in the eye. “There’s something different. C’mon, partner. You know you can always talk to me, right?”

“Yeah,” Tom sighed. “Thanks. I’m okay. Sorry for–” he made a vague gesture that was to mean everything, and Butch grinned.

“You’re a sissy when you turn serious.”

Tom groaned and threw a folder at him. Butch dodged it easily, laughing and grimacing stupidly.

x

It was disturbing and irritating. Jerry shifted on his bed, rolled onto his side, fluffed the pillow and turned it over to cool the cheek on its fresh side.

Nothing helped. He couldn’t fall asleep for the last hour and a half at least, given the accuracy of his internal clock. That bastard Mumbo took away his watch together with the cellphone and everything else he could find in his pockets. Well, that was reasonable; Jerry was able to get out of the room with the help of his watch alone.

But still, it got on his nerves. Being locked in a room for almost two weeks with nothing to distract on other than regular forays on the banks, the pressure and stress of the whole situation, and detective Catcher–

Jerry chuckled hysterically. When he thought of bringing detective into this, who would have thought it would result in problems not connected with the robberies? The most annoying part was Jerry had no idea what the hell was happening, and it made him fidget nervously.

Last time he saw detective, it was obvious something didn’t go as planned. What could have changed? Jerry listed the possible alternatives but invariably was left with nothing solid. Well maybe only– but no. Unless– no, no, what the hell was he thinking?!

Jerry sat on the bed. Yet maybe, only maybe– That, of course, couldn’t be the case, he thought curiously.

The last robbery went without incident. The only difference was Tom never appeared; Jerry wouldn’t like to admit he was waiting for him but this time nothing interrupted their action. That was unnerving, too, knowing that police is aware of the robbery and does literally _nothing_ to stop it – Tom’s doing, no doubt. It was a hard thing to confess himself he got involuntary twitchy not because there was no police but no Tom around.

When Mumbo dragged him back to the apartment he rented, Jerry tried to fight back again. “Hey Mumbo Jumbo, how long are you gonna keep me here?” With zero result, of course. He was thrown into the room and locked with accuracy that was hard to assume in his ungraceful jailer. At least he had to support his legend.

Now, the third day of doing nothing in a row was painfully boring. Jerry thought of trying an escape plan he had thought out because there was nothing else to do and just in case but that would ruin his initial strategy of getting off police hands – and Tom’s hands specifically–

The door to his room creaked open, and a streak of light fell onto the floor.

“Safecracker, up! We’ve got job to do.”

Jerry swung his legs off the bed. “What now? Another robbery? Which safe is there?”

“You know it,” Mumbo smiled. “You’ve opened it already.”

“Huh?”

He was dragged off the bed and out of the apartment in a blink of an eye. “No questions, lad. If you behave, you’ll probably survive tonight. Got it? Or there will be another body for the cops to deal with.”

…The van parked near one of the banks – the one where Jerry last saw Tom. “This one again?” he asked quietly, sneaking out after Mumbo. “You forgot something here or what? Hope they weren’t your fingerprints, it’s too late for that now–”

“Shut up and do your job,” Mumbo cut him off menacingly.

Jerry pulled a cap over his eyes; the head ringed lightly with adrenaline. If everything went according to the plan, police should already be here, set and ready. And Tom; Jerry caught himself on an improper thought and waved it away. Still, he was unable to get rid of the stupid grin on his face completely, and he gratefully thought of the darkness covering him from unwelcome glances.

“You know where the safe is. Get to work,” Mumbo pushed him inside the bank and looked around. The street was calm and quiet, suspiciously so.

Jerry remembered the safe quite well. The same tough construction that was not as boring as the majority of other locks. He started the timer as usual and was satisfied finishing four seconds earlier than his usual time.

The door to the vault opened slowly and Jerry stepped in, staring at a row of tiny transparent containers with dimly glowing metal inside and radioactive signs on each side.

He made another step forward and held out his hand. The containers were slightly warm under the touch of a gloved hand, and Jerry caressed the smooth side dreamily, a small content smile cracking his lips–

The sirens howled right above his ear. Jerry jumped, jerking his hand away, and felt a strong hit that slammed him to the nearest wall. “Freeze! You have the right to remain silent–”

 

…It was soon over.

Standing next to a car with a personal guard at his side, Jerry observed. Policemen were everywhere. They walked around, chatty and busy, collecting evidence and doing, from Jerry’s point of view, a completely useless work. On the other hand, their bustling allowed to look around without interruption.

Mumbo was being put in the car. Due to his impressive height, he hit his head and swore loudly. Jerry chuckled, skimming the crowd with his eyes-

Bingo. Catcher was standing near the other car; Jerry smiled at him cheerfully. Tom smiled back, tired yet content: “I won” was written all over his face. Next to him, a heavily-tanned scrawny man, looking like he was permanently starving, was waving his hands emotionally; Tom frowned and grimaced, trying to get rid of him.

Probably his partner, Jerry thought watching the ease with which Tom tossed the man’s hand off his shoulders. Detective said something in a cross tone, brows furrowed, and headed toward Jerry.

“Detective Catcher.”

“Thank you, officer, I’ll take over this one.”

Policeman that held Jerry by the elbow nodded and disappeared mixing with the crowd.

“Catcher,” Jerry greeted, grinning broadly.

“McAway,” Tom examined him with intent gaze. “What the hell, I thought they cuffed you.”

“Oh, that?” Jerry dangled the handcuffs before Tom’s nose. “I took them off, they’re rather uncomfortable.”

“Of course you did.”

The silence between them was tense.

“So you found the boss?”

“We did,” Tom smirked and leaned his elbows on the car. “Aaron Donni, heard of him?”

Jerry rounded his eyes. “The Yellow Wolf, really?”

Detective nodded. “Everything was on him, the plans of the banks, setting of the vaults and even the location of the cameras. He’s already in pre-trial detention. We needed only Mumbo for the full picture.”

“What about me?” Jerry lifted one eyebrow mockingly. “Do you need me?”

“I–” Tom stumbled on a phrase and shook his head. “The investigation will call you as a witness–”

“Not that,” Jerry put his elbow near Tom’s, and detective twitched. “Not the investigation. Do _you_?”

Tom fidgeted, his eyes dark and glinting in the red and blue flashes of the police cars.

Jerry congratulated himself inwardly and moved closer.

…Self-control was slipping through his fingers. Jerry was so close he could see a small birthmark on his forehead, at the very hairline. “Jerry,” he said trying to break the awkward pause between them.

“Aren’t you being really familiar, detective?” Jerry had the small smile on his lips, the one that he already showed once. The one that made Tom especially agitated.

“You said it was okay. Remember–”

He didn’t get to end the sentence. Jerry caught his necktie with surprisingly strong fingers and pulled him down, slanting their mouths together.

It was better than Tom could have imagined. Better than a dream and far better than a quick fantasy Tom allowed himself in a shower several days ago. Soft lips opened invitingly, crushing the resistance to slide his tongue inside the wet hot mouth. Jerry responded, pushing one knee between Tom’s thighs at the same time.

“You bastard, what are you thinking?” Tom breathed out, realizing he already got his hands under Jerry’s shirt, pulling it up greedily.

“Shut up, detective,” Jerry’s voice hitched, and Tom almost bit off his tongue when Jerry’s knee slid higher.

He wanted to slam Jerry’s back to the car, press his hands behind him and devour him whole. The brain flashed red alerting signs, deprived of control, almost disconnected from reality. Fingers moved on their own accord; Tom barely caught them at Jerry’s belt.

Jerry was no better. He breathed heavily under Tom’s lips and clenched into Tom’s shirt, threatening to tear it to shreds.

“Stop,” Tom asked in a hoarse voice, trying to catch Jerry’s hands.

Jerry shook his head, and dark strands of hair fell over his eyes. Tom felt hot and funny in his stomach; it was beyond his power to hold back any longer, but help unexpectedly came from outside.

“Detective? You need assistance?”

Tom pulled away as though struck by a lightning. Jerry darted him a nasty smile, licked his lips quickly, making Tom shiver, and let the policeman cuff him without complaint. He didn't stop making acrid jokes on the reliability of the device while he was settled at the backseat of the car.

The way to the office was restless and extremely uncomfortable.

“What’s wrong, partner?” Butch demanded, surprised by the fidgeting Tom. “You wanted to take part in action that much?”

Tom forced out a laugh trying not to sound factitious.

Looking Jerry in the eye at the brightly lit office was even more unnerving. The bastard, on the contrary, seemed to feel perfectly in place, lounging in an inconvenient office chair as though it was his own cozy sofa, with his hands finally released off the cuffs and resting calmly on his knees.

Tom traced the line of the slim legs upwards, scowled and hid his hands in the pockets. Both Spike and Butch threw him worried glances.

“So what was in those containers?” Jerry asked curiously.

“Californium 252. It’s a radioactive and very expensive metal.” Tom sat on the edge of the desk, feeling clamped in his clothes. That was not yet a problem but it would become one if Jerry didn’t stop observing him so intently. “The funny thing is, no one knows how to use it exactly.”

“What do you mean?”

Tom exchanged glances with Butch. “Well, this isotope is used in medicine but it’s probably the only way to use it at all. I can’t see why anyone would want to steal that; despite its price, it’s quite useless.”

Jerry lifted his eyebrows. “Maybe there’s something we don’t know?” he suggested. “Some way to use this– erm– Californium that is not widely known?”

Tom shrugged and crossed his legs hoping it didn’t look suspicious. Jerry’s soft smile told him it did.

“So, chief,” Jerry finally turned away to face Captain. “I heard you and detective Catcher were talking over my deal. I am very interested to be part of the discussion.”

Spike frowned but there was a hidden chuckle in the corners of his mouth.

“You sure are one cocky bastard,” he said, amused. “And a lucky one; somehow you’ve been of help to us. Detective Catcher asked for you so you’re free to go but before I’d like you to think over the position of an advisor on criminal offenses.”

“I do understand detective Catcher wants me to be within his eyesight,” Jerry observed from the corner of his eye how Tom choked, staring at them, and smiled charmingly. “I’ll think of it but not tonight, Captain. I haven’t had a nice shower in almost two weeks, and I’ve really missed my bed.”

Jerry got up easily and faced Tom. “Detective, may I have a word?”

Tom watched Captain pleadingly trying to translate the ‘don’t-leave-me-alone-with-him’ through his eyes. Spike grinned and waved an open palm. “You’re free for today, Catcher, I’ll deal with the rest. You can have a day off tomorrow, as well, but I wait for your report by Friday.”

Butch slapped him on the back with a wry knowing grin and retreated.

Tom turned slowly to find Jerry staring at him.

“You know, I’ve been thinking on your behavior for a week,” he said quietly. There was no smile on his face but his eyes were glittering teasingly. “It was unfair to make me guess– So. How about you take me to your place and tell me everything properly?”

“Now?” Tom tried to move away from Jerry’s shoulder, dangerously close to his own.

“You have a day off tomorrow,” Jerry reminded him. His body felt hot, and Tom suddenly lost connection with reality.

“I thought you missed your bed,” he forced out finally.

“I lied,” Jerry breathed into his ear, pulling him closer. “Sue me.”

Tom gulped, watching Jerry licking his lips.

x

It was awkward sitting in a car next to Jerry, knowing where and why they’re going and what’s going to happen. Tom was feeling like a teenager in anticipation of his first sexual experience. Fingers trembled nervously on a steering wheel; he cursed under breath trying to stop shivering.

Out of the corner of his eye Tom saw Jerry, relaxed and calm, with a usual charming smile firm on his lips. Only his hands, clasped into a lock on the knees gave him away.

The situation didn’t improve when they arrived, and got even worse at the door of Tom’s apartment. He fumbled in his pockets, suddenly certain he had lost his keys.

Jerry’s palm was warm and distracting on his shoulder and didn’t help at all.

At last Tom found the keys and opened the door. “Come in,” he invited, courteously letting Jerry ahead. He took his time closing the door behind them, hesitating before turning back to face Jerry.

For a moment, Tom thought all of this was stupid and there was no chance anything would ever come out of it. The next thing he knew, Jerry’s lips were pressed to his, and the world was dissolving in a burning flash around them.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, detective,” Jerry breathed searingly into his mouth, pulling away for a gulp of air. “Didn’t I say I’ve been waiting for a _week_?”

Tom gasped and slammed him into the wall without further invitation. He had no idea where they were, lost in his own apartment; he didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was clinging to him, bracing his neck, kissing, biting, swallowing his hoarse growls and moaning in return.

Their clothes cracked warningly. Tom almost tore Jerry’s shirt, eager to feel more of him. Jerry worked on Tom’s clothes with no less resolution.

Skin was on fire under their palms. The thought at the back of Tom’s mind that was still able to be reasonable suggested he had to let Jerry go at least for a second to get rid of their clothes and find a proper, preferably horizontal place to continue. However, he could do no such thing; the part of his body currently in control shut off his brain completely.

Luckily, they managed to reach bedroom; probably the old habits triggered, Tom thought hazily, stumbling and dragging Jerry with him. They fell together, Tom getting Jerry’s elbow in the ribs. There was a strained ‘ow’ followed by a moment of frantic laughter that didn’t restore their breath but only made them pant for air. Tom held Jerry atop of himself, looking into Jerry’s eyes, huge and black with arousal, on his swollen lips and tangled hair that kept falling on his forehead, and felt his senses going wild.

He inhaled loudly, regaining a hint of control over his body.

“If I hug you now, you risk being strangled,” he confessed quietly, hoping he doesn’t sound too clumsy.

“I’m eager to take the risk,” Jerry whispered, smile settling in his voice. “Don’t make me–”

Tom shut him with a gentle, cautious kiss, rolling over and pinning him down to the bed. With their positions reversed, Jerry tilted his head back, allowing better access to the soft skin on his neck. Tom captured his earlobe and nipped lightly, undoing the buttons with stiff fingers.

The shirt rustled quietly under Tom’s hands; he ran his palms down the naked skin, from shoulders to stomach, and Jerry leaned in to his caress. Tom repeated it upwards with his mouth, unhurried and teasing, and back again, until Jerry grabbed Tom’s hair in his fist and pulled.

“You asshole, how long do you think I can bear?” he hissed irritably, trying to peel Tom’s shirt off his shoulders with his free hand.

Tom smirked and pulled the pants off him, spreading his knees to settle between them. Jerry cursed through clenched teeth and rubbed his thighs against Tom’s. He was beautiful like this, panting, dazed, with dark eyes and loose strands of hair.

“Why so impatient, we have all night,” Tom murmured and caressed Jerry’s knees before slipping a hand between their bodies. He reached and stroked until incoherent noises poured out of Jerry’s mouth, muffled curses and Tom’s name barely heard between the moans. Tom kissed them off his lips, keeping a steady rhythm of his hips and hands.

Jerry wriggled, sprawled under Tom’s body, trying either to get away or to blend with Tom into one. He pressed closer, but it was not enough. “Get it off!” Jerry pleaded, or maybe ordered, breathless, jerking Tom’s shirt violently.

He got rid of his shirt but didn’t get to pull off his trousers completely. Jerry’s madness finally caught up on him, too; he pushed in two fingers at once, fast and merciless.

The first thrust exploded in fireworks before his eyes. It was hot, and wet, and painful at first, but pleasure grew as a rising tide. Tom was forcing his way in with every push, and Jerry gritted his teeth, trying and failing to relax.

Tom slowed down, rising on his elbows, than on his hands, changing the angle, and Jerry suddenly froze, his mouth falling open. The next thrust made him arch, throwing his head back, and push toward Tom, catching his rhythm.

It was like a frenzy; Tom’s head kept spinning around, and nothing else mattered even if it was the last day on Earth. Jerry bit his lips; his eyes were insane and hungry, and asking for more, more–

Tom hammered into him again, and Jerry huddled, shaking his head on the pillow frantically. Tom thought he saw sparkles scattering everywhere from his hair, and a tight twist finally untied in his stomach, blackening him out for a short eternity.

…He came to his senses almost immediately, wrecked and pathetically feeble. It was an enormous effort to heave himself off Jerry, roll them both over – Jerry seemed to be even less able to move – and snug cozily, intertwining their legs.

Another eternity later, Tom was able to think straight again, and he was thinking about the warm breath on his shoulder, a hand with slim fingers on his chest and dark hair ticklish on his neck. He could see a soft curve of Jerry’s cheek and long thick eyelashes.

There still was a thought he couldn’t stop thinking.

“I really hope it wasn’t you,” Tom said quietly, not knowing if he wanted for Jerry to hear and dissuade him or to miss the display of Tom’s distrust.

“I’ll pretend I never heard it,” the answer came, as quiet as a question.

Jerry turned his head and looked Tom in the eye. His pupils went back to normal, and the eye iris was of soft hazel now.

“Sorry,” Tom muttered into Jerry’s ear. “I’m not really a confiding person.”

“Mm, ‘s okay,” Jerry smiled entrancingly and embraced Tom’s neck, pulling him into a slow lazy kiss. “You’ll learn. Now, I wasn’t quite kidding about the shower–”

 

Bonus Epilogue

“Jerry! Haven’t seen you for a while. Up to something naughty again?”

Jerry grinned and opened his arms. “Delora, dear cousin! Where’ve you been, darling! No, I’m off business for a while.”

“Really? I heard rumors about some scheme you were a part of.” She embraced his shoulders gracefully and pecked him on the cheek.

“I wasn’t part of the scheme,” Jerry chuckled. “It was _my_ scheme. And I got what I wanted–”

He pulled a small transparent container with a softly glowing metal inside out of his pocket and watched amusedly the perplexed expression on Delora’s face. “This is Californium. Known for its huge value, deadly impact on cancer cells and, in narrow circles, for its usefulness for the objects of ancient art. You see, Chinese porcelain is exceptionally fragile, and my collection needs to be treated with care and caution only this metal provides.”

Delora frowned a little and pointed to the warning sign. “Isn’t it radioactive?”

“It is. But it’s not like I’ll ever drink out of those cups, right?” Jerry winked giddily and hid the container in his pocket. “Besides, I got a really pleasant bonus as a result of this operation. Actually, if I knew it turned out like this, I would have planned the scheme just for fun.”


End file.
